


Never Let Go

by theindiarussianqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Out, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Mary Ships It, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Sam Ships It, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9046613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theindiarussianqueen/pseuds/theindiarussianqueen
Summary: "He had joined you in sitting on the car while you ate dinner out of a greasy fast food bag. You hadn’t had a chance to eat before you’d left the bunker, sneaking out with a note left for Sam saying you’d be out for the night, and not to expect you home. You didn’t need your little brother asking questions."
Or; a week after Castiel and Mary break the boys out of prison, Dean sneaks out of the bunker to meet Cas at a motel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has undergone several transformations. Initially, it was written for an NCIS: Los Angeles pairing (Nell and Eric), probably just about four years ago. Within a year, it was turned into a Dean/Castiel AU. In early season nine, I made it canon-verse. Now, in season 12, I decided it could use reviving and set it after the mid-season finale. So, if you notice any glaring issues with consistency of canon, tense, or point of view, you can attribute it to the many changes this story has undergone, as well as my poor editing skills.
> 
> Nonetheless, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

The two of you are sitting awkwardly on the hood of the Impala. You had just arrived at the motel, and you asked how he was. Cas just stared at you, shocked that you’d be asking how he was, and internally questioning how he deserved your concern.

He had joined you in sitting on the car while you ate dinner out of a greasy fast food bag. You hadn’t had a chance to eat before you’d left the bunker, sneaking out with a note left for Sam saying you’d be out for the night, and not to expect you home. You didn’t need your little brother asking questions.

Once you’d finished eating, you’d laid down beside him, staring up at the starless sky peeking through the trees together. Before you realize it, though, you’re begging Cas to go inside. It’s getting cold out, and Cas, being an angel, is unfazed. However, you had foregone the many layers you usually don out of lack of focus, only able to think about the little rendezvous with Cas that was approaching. Castiel complies easily, leading you into the motel room. It strikes you that he’s leading you toward the single King-size bed, but you don't question it.  


It takes a moment for you to register that he’s looking directly at you from where he sits at the foot of the bed. You blush slightly, a red tinge to your cheeks, and you glance at your shoes. Wordlessly, he invites you to sit beside him. Given that there’s a lot to talk about between the two of you, you decide that there's no way you'd refuse the offer.  


You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You know that you need to talk about everything that’s happened recently, to tell him that the bunker with you and your brother is his home, and that he’s your family. You think about the thing that has loomed over the two of you for so long. You know now that you aren’t imagining it. Castiel invited you here, and you could almost hear his blush over the phone. There's only one bed, so you can only assume that Castiel had high hopes for tonight.  


He's sitting far too close and that shouldn't bother you because Cas doesn’t have a concept of personal space and you’d come to accept and embrace that long ago. This time, though, there's something that makes you nervous because this time you're positive that he’s figured out that there’s a thing between you. For someone as generally clueless as Cas, that’s pretty big. You shouldn't be afraid of that because he’s always on your mind, and you can't do anything about it unless he knows and holy shit, this is complicated.  


The look in your eyes is one you’re sure he’s seen many a time before. It's a look of longing, because you want him so badly. Your lips part and you feel the mild, dull ache of your eyes dilating. You should have done this forever ago, and you wish you could just grow a pair to act on your feelings. But you don’t want to push him. He’s been through a lot recently, what with being possessed by Lucifer and feeling responsible for his release from the Cage. He won’t even talk about it, save for blaming himself. As much as you hate talking about feelings, you want to beg him to tell you, tell him he can trust you, not that you believe you deserve it. You’re just a broken man, and you don’t deserve the time of day from an angel.  


And dear God, he's staring at you with those shining eyes and his slightly chapped lips are parted and you can't help but think about your own lips pressed up against them and how much you wanna rip his ugly effing clothes off of him.  


You see him capture his lower lip between his teeth and can't help but think about how much you wish you could do that. Your eyes leave his and choose his mouth as a focal point, and you decide that you can't wait any longer.

Fuck talking, your brain - or maybe it’s that thing in your chest that, by some miracle, is still beating - decides. We’ve got time.  


Your hand finds the back of his neck and lingers there for a moment, giving him a final chance to back out, but when he gives no indication that he wants you to stop, you surrender to the temptation and finally capture his lips with your own.  


The slight whimper he lets out is unexpected and so is the hand that he places carefully on your chest over your heart - not pulling you closer, but not pushing you away, either. You do end up catching his lip between your teeth, and he gasps, his other hand migrating upward to tangle in your hair. His reaction spurs you onward, and you find yourself pressing him back onto the bed, and the soft, hesitant lips of earlier become hard and demanding and you can't think of anything but him kissing you because nothing but this moment matters.  


This isn’t the first kiss you’ve shared; the first happened the day he and Mary broke you out of that high-security prison. After he’d stunned every Secret Service agent in the entire building and wiped their memories, Castiel had stormed through the place and tore down the doors to Sam’s cell, then yours. Once you’d held your brother, then your mom, you’d turned to Castiel, who you knew spearheaded your prison break, and pressed your lips to his. Then, it was desperate and adrenaline-fueled, uncaring that your mother and Sam stood three feet away. Now, you’re both shy and nervous, and it shows in the hesitant presses of lips.  


You think that there could be no better feeling in the world. Although the moment you realized how much you cared for him was the moment in that prison cell that you thought you might never see him again, you realize that it’s possible for that feeling to grow exponentially. It was something that you, bitter and disbelieving, never considered. Cas has opened your eyes to a lot of things, changed the way you see the world, and you think that maybe you're a believer now. His hand is on the collar of your shirt before you realize that you need to slow down. You pull away from him slightly and whisper his name, only to have him cut you off with murmurs of, "Why’d you stop?” And while your intention was not necessarily to stop, you do want to take this a little slower, however reassuring his encouragement may be.  


He pulls you back in and you melt against him again for a few breathtaking moments before pulling away once more. He pouts in frustration, but you ignore his protests and continue,  


"I don’t wanna take advantage here.”  


He looks surprised, pulling away from you a little further with a questioning look.  


"Look, Cas," you begin. “You’re going through some tough crap. I know you feel responsible for what happened with Lucifer and Kelly and the whole… prison thing.” Castiel flinches at each of the mentions, which only makes you pull away more, terrified of what mental state your friend might be in. “I need to know that you aren’t just doing this because it’s what I want, or because you need a distraction.”  


The angel’s got enough nerve in him to roll his eyes and bring you back into a kiss, but you pull away once again. He takes a deep breath and pulls back further, staring down at his hands.  


"Dean," he starts, voice lower and more gravelly than usual, "this is what I want. Honestly. I just didn’t know it was what you wanted, not until you kissed me in that prison. I know what I’ve done, and for you to even consider putting that aside is… more than I could ask. Letting Lucifer out of the Cage, allowing him to impregnate a human woman, being distracted enough to allow you and Sam to be captured and then failing to break you out for more than six weeks-”  


“Dammit, Cas,” you murmur. “None of that matters. You had the best of intentions, and you did everything you could to fix what mistakes you may have made. Sam and I don’t blame you for anything. You had more balls than either of us, sacrificing yourself to help save the world. And you did everything you could to find us. You got us out, and that's all that matters. There’s nothing to forgive.”  


“Dean-”  


You shake your head because he still isn’t picking up on it. He still doesn’t get that you care for him, despite what he’s done, despite the fact that you’ve been hurt before, despite the fact that you’re both in uncharted territory, wading waters that you’ve never known. While Cas is inexperienced in the whole concept of relationships, guys are a mystery to you.  


So you take his face into your hands, cradling it like you did in that prison.  


“Don’t you ever…” Your voice cracks with emotion, and you want to hit yourself because it’s such a chick-flick moment. You pull yourself back together and try again because it’s something he needs to hear. You really fucking owe it to him. “Don’t you ever think that I wouldn’t want you. I’m always going to. That’s not gonna change.”  


You consider leaving so that he can process all that’s gone down so quickly, but he places one hand on your knee, nodding, as if he can still read your mind through your eyes, and whispers, voice dripping with innocence and something that sounds a lot like fear,  


“Stay?”  


He doesn't plan on kicking you out after this, and thank God because you don't think you could handle that rejection. It spurs you forward. You reach your thumb up to gently smooth away the apprehension from his eyes, and lean in a little, admitting,  


“I’m scared, too.”  


You push the collar of his cheap white button-up out of the way and don't delay before placing your lips gently on his neck. His hand is tugging at your shirt collar again, and you let him pull your shirt up and over your head. Your own hands migrate to his chest and for a brief moment you miss his signature backwards tie. Because as good as it had felt to be so domestically tying it so many years ago, you can't help but think that it’d feel a whole hell of a lot better to be removing it. With that, your lips leave their exploration of his neck to find his mouth again.  


You soon find yourself pushing him back further into his bed, articles of clothing - you curse the number of layers Castiel wears on a daily basis- discarded as you go. By the time he’s tugging off your jeans, having flipped you both to put you on your back, you're too long gone to realize you haven't even discussed what this changes between the two of you.

 ---

You’re lying with your head resting on his chest, busy memorizing the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing, the scent that clings to him. It’s odd that you never knew that the angel’s heart beat, that he breathed, that he somehow smelled like cheap body wash and something purely masculine. You can't help but feel like something's all wrong with this scenario, however perfect he may feel, your body pressed against his, nothing covering you but a stained motel bed sheet and a thin layer of sweat. Castiel doesn’t sleep, so as much as you want to lie there and watch the candid calm that might cross the angel’s face, you can only lie there in silence, stroking your thumb across the other man’s stomach. The urge to reach out and touch his face is strong, but you’re afraid that the movement might break this moment. So you leave it to everything else to take him in: the smooth texture of his skin as you cling to him; the lingering flavor of his lips and the way his skin tasted; the memory of the hushed whimpers and moans that escaped his mouth combined with the creaks of the springs in the shitty motel bed.

There’s something entirely wrong about the way you feel. You practically snuck out of the bunker to meet him, but a nagging insecurity in the back of your mind told you that this was something you couldn’t share with Sam. There’s almost a sense of guilt somewhere in the cacophony of emotion bubbling up inside you, and maybe it’s because Cas deserves better than this. This moment deserved to happen back in the bunker on a memory foam bed with expensive sheets, smiles on your faces and tears in your eyes from happiness instead of fear. It deserved to be taken slow while you smiled and laughed and kissed each other just because you could, and not because you were both alive and well and together for once.  


It's the fact that he never told you what he felt that unnerves you. It's something that makes your hands shake and frightening thoughts of him kicking you to the curb in the morning run through your mind. The thought that he could regret this nearly brings tears to your eyes. You'll respect whatever choice he makes in the morning, or whenever, really, because you'd rather he be happy than be with you. And given how much you wanna be with him, you really want Cas to be happy. You’d do a hell of a lot to see a smile light his face again.  


The image of that smile is the last thing that runs through your mind as you drift off to sleep.

 ---

You wake up to a cold and empty bed, and it hurts more than it should. You know he can't have gone far - Cas’s duffel sits in an armchair by the television - but it still stings. You’re not much for romance or sentiment but you'd hoped to wake up still wrapped up with him. Instead, you climb from the bed, clothing yourself in the shirt and jeans you’d discarded on the floor last night. You round the partition that separates the bedroom from the rest of the tiny room and find your way to the miniature kitchen. He's hovered over the pathetic stove, and as you look you can see he's making breakfast.

"Hey," you whisper, and you're so very tempted to walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and kiss his neck. You use what's left of your restraint to keep yourself from doing so because you don't know if you're allowed to be quite so domestic. He turns and smiles at you and it fills you with a warmth that you didn't quite know you could feel. It feels so damn good to see him smile. His hair's ruffled in an adorable way and you notice a mark beneath the collar of his shirt. A surge of pride overcomes you as you realize that you did that. Every urge is screaming at you to kiss him, but you don't know the rules of this thing that you have going. So you ask if he needs any help with the cooking, and when he declines, you walk to the motel room’s table to sit down and check your phone.  


It’s past noon, you realize with a start, and you have two texts from Sam and one from your mother. Both are just checking in, and Sam’s second one asks how your night out was with a winking emoji. You wrestle with how to reply, but finally decide that, fuck it, Sam and Mom have already seen you kiss Cas, they might as well know that you’re screwing. Pulling up FaceTime, you click Sam’s name and wait to see if he picks up. Finally, Sam answers, his scruffy and tired mug showing up on Dean’s phone. He’s sitting in the bunker’s kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal, and smiles around a bite of Raisin Bran. He says his hellos, and Mary enters the frame with her own greetings, waving with the hand that isn’t occupied by what appears to be a blueberry muffin.  


“So, how was your night?” Sam asks smugly. Mary slaps his arm.  


“Better than yours,” you shoot back.  


“Where’d you go? A bar? Or did you meet someone on that app you had? What was your username? Impala67?”  


As if on cue, Cas is walking toward you, placing a tray full of pancakes on the table. You almost get up to press a kiss to his cheek, but manage only a smile because you need to express your emotions somehow, just not in front of Sam and your mother.  


And Cas smiles back.  


With the hand that isn’t holding your phone, you beckon Castiel over to join you, kicking the chair beside you out far enough for him to sit. As Cas’s face joins yours on the screen, both Sam and Mary sit back in their chairs, shocked.  


“Oh,” Sam says, and you notice your mom practically choking on her pastry. You can’t say their reaction is unexpected, but he already made out with his best friend - a guy, for Christ’s sake - in front of them, so they should already have some idea of what’s going on. Cas greets them both somewhat formally, inclining his head in greeting as he says his hellos. Sam lets a smile turn up the corner of his mouth. Mary squints in mild confusion, but finally shrugs in acceptance, though there’s still some apprehension in her eyes. You can practically hear the speech Sam’s gonna give her about the changing social climate of the country and fluid sexuality and the SCOTUS ruling on same-sex marriage from 2015.  


You explain that you drove up to Hastings, Nebraska to meet Castiel and work out a few things. Sam and Mary take that for exactly what they know you meant, and you notice a bit of hurt flash in Sam’s eyes. It’s obvious that he’s a bit upset that you didn’t tell him about what was going on between you and Castiel. However, you’re pretty certain he knew that something was happening. You make a mental note to pull him aside and have a talk with him. Once the pair at the bunker accept your explanation, you push to move on from the subject, turning around to talk about hunting.  


The four of you begin discussing some occurrences in Colorado Springs that might be your kind of thing. There’s something about discussing demons and disappearances that makes everything start feeling particularly normal again. The feeling makes you so happy that you cast a grin at Cas, who smiles right back. When you turn back, you notice Sam whispering something indecipherable in your mother’s ear. Her face sprouts a smirk, but neither of them say anything. Given, you realize with a start, that a hickey is sitting on the small expanse of skin where the top few buttons of Cas’s shirt are undone, you don't blame them for their thoughts. Which you’re positive are probably something along the lines of "they're fucking.”  


Which you are. Sort of. Because if it was just a one-time thing, then that probably isn't the right word for it. You don't think you could handle being just a fling, or this even being casual sex, because you want so much more than that with him. Because you've known the "friends with benefits" kind of relationship and that didn't end well. Anyways, you’re pretty positive that this is only his second time sleeping with someone, and his first time with a guy, and that’s pretty significant.  


He was the one to ask you to stay. You hope he didn’t mean just for the night.  


You pause momentarily to look at him and think about a possible future together: being able to kiss him just because you want to, waking up to him every day, living in the bunker together. You realize how openly you're staring and catch yourself, turning back to Sam and Mary. They’re grinning brightly at you, and Cas turns to look at you as as a dark red blush begins to spread across your face. Cas bites his lip, which, you notice, is still slightly swollen from kissing him so hard. The other two notice your change in focus, and Sam gives a face that’s a mix of disgust and amusement.  


“There are just some things I never needed to know,” Sam muttered. “But, hey, at least I won’t have to be the one to cut the unresolved sexual tension with a knife.”  


Your best friend-slash-fuckbuddy-slash-possible-boyfriend (but you have no idea how this works) just gives you a look. You think he might be asking you whether you’re a couple now, but you aren’t sure either, so you keep your mouth shut.  


“You’re okay with this, Sammy?” you inquire, a somewhat surprised tone lingering in the air with the question. “Seriously? I thought you’d be a little freaked out.”  


Your little brother just shrugs.  


“You look happy,” he answers shortly.  


“Mom?”  


She lets the corners of her mouth turn up slightly.  


“I haven't seen you smile as much in all the time I've known you as you have in the last fifteen minutes,” she told him. “And if Castiel is who is making you smile… I can't find a reason to complain.”

 ---

It’s decided that Sam and Mary will handle the issue in Colorado without you. None of you know the extent of the problem, however, and it being Sam’s first hunt since their jailbreak, you make him text Eileen to help them out in case he’s rusty. It gives Sam reason to introduce his mother to the woman he'd been texting with practically nonstop since they made it home.

The next few days come and pass without your return to the bunker, and you and Cas are still falling into bed together on a nightly basis. The nature of your relationship goes undiscussed, however.  


One night, you are both only slightly drunk, watching a movie together. You kiss him hard about a half hour before the film ends, and proceed to spend the rest of the night in a way that ends with the two of you waking the next morning to pounding headaches and aching muscles, your hands handcuffed to the headboard with no recollection of the night before.  


Those in the neighboring motel rooms wish they could say as much. Much like his concept of personal space, Cas’s ability to be quiet when drunk is nonexistent.  


After plenty of acetaminophen to dull the effects of your hangovers, and with the recognition that there’s a world and more issues beyond these four walls, you start to pack up to leave. As much as you try to convince Castiel to return to the bunker with you, he turns you down.  


“I need to find Kelly,” he explains. “That’s on me.”  


“I can help,” you insist.  


Cas shakes his head at that.  


“No. You’re needed on hunts with Sam and Mary, and I’m unsure how long it’ll take me to find her, or where this search will take me.”  


“She’s just a human,” you tell him. “She can’t be that hard to find.”  


“You’d be surprised,” Castiel says with a smile. “I will come back to you, you know.”  


You concede to him eventually, agreeing to let him go off on his own.  


“I won’t be far if you ever need me,” you whisper to him. He gives a curt nod because he already knows that. So you try again. “I’m serious. If you need anything, if you ever get into any danger or even if you just need me, you give me a call. I’ll come running, okay?”  


His nod seems more meaningful this time, but it’s still aggravating.  


“God, would you say something?” you demand suddenly.  


“What do you want me to say?” Cas inquires quietly. He isn’t angry with you, and you know it. He isn’t disappointed, even particularly sad. He looks numb, if you’re honest with yourself.  


“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Anything. Say goodbye. Ask me to stay. Scream at me for leaving you. Hell, lie to me. Tell me you love me or something.”  


Cas laughs. He laughs like it’s the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. It comes out like a sob. You’ve never seen him cry, and the idea of it hurts.  


“That’s not a lie,” he admits.  


You stare back at him. You stare at him like he’s the 2014 version of Castiel that Zachariah showed you, like he’s as crazy and stoned as he was then. You stare at him with fear and surprise and lust and something that sounds a lot like what Cas has just confessed to. So you grab him in your arms and you kiss him senseless and when you part you breathlessly whisper,  


“You son of a bitch, I…” And although the words can’t seem to make their way past your lips, you know that he understands. Somehow his understanding isn’t enough; you need to voice something. “I need you. I really fucking need you, Cas. I wish… God, I wish circumstances were different. I… I want…”  


Cas silences you with another kiss, gentle this time, comforting, because he seems to know how difficult this is for you to say.

“I know,” he insists. And his voice speaks a million words you don’t have the balls to say: I really do wish circumstances were different. I wish we met as toddlers and grew up together and kissed in our tree house. I wish we were high school sweethearts, our only battles against teenage bullies when we showed up at prom together and had clunky, inexperienced sex in a hotel room that night. “We will be okay. I promise. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”  


You nod, not for his benefit, but your own. With much effort, you pull away, and give a final squeeze to his hand. He walks you to the Impala waiting outside, and stands next to the driver’s side door with you.  


“This isn’t goodbye,” you whisper. Cas laughs, and it seems sincere now.  


“I know that,” he says, and gives a broad smile. “Go, Dean.”  


You place a final kiss to his lips, and it feels strange, because your relationship has been confined to that motel room for so long, and now you’re out in the open, where anyone can see you.  


“Call me, okay?” you request, and he nods. You brush the knuckle of your index finger across his cheek and down his jawline. “I’ll see you soon, Cas.”  


You let go, and you’re disappointed that it does feel like a final farewell. You climb into the Impala and smile at him as you start it up. As an afterthought, you roll down the window.  


“Is this what it feels like to leave?” you query, and in his eyes you see that he knows you’re referencing every time he’s disappeared on you.  


“No,” he answers with a touch of remorse. “Not until I thought about staying.”  


You smile in spite of yourself.  


“Someday, Cas,” you hear yourself saying, “someday we’re both just gonna stay.”  


He doesn’t answer, and you ease the Impala into drive. You watch him in the rearview mirror until all you can see in the distance is the open road.

**Author's Note:**

> In its first edition, this work was a Christmas story. Though it no longer is the festive tale it once was, I thought it appropriate that it be revived around this time. Title is the original.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas for those celebrating, and a wonderful holiday season to all those who don't!


End file.
